


The Next Adventure

by ThymeTraveler



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo thinks too much, Canon-Typical Violence, Epistolary, F/M, Female Bilbo, Gen, Kidnapping, NaNo 2016, One Year Later, Post BotFA, brief depictions of PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 19:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThymeTraveler/pseuds/ThymeTraveler
Summary: "I sit beside the fire and think..."Bilbo goes home and finally thinks very hard about her life and her choices.





	The Next Adventure

The adventure was done, the quest fulfilled, Erebor reclaimed, Thorin II “Oakenshield” in his rightful place on the throne of the Lonely Mountain. And Bilbo Baggins Esq., Dragon Riddler, was having none of this nonsense. Nope. None of it. She had had quite enough adventures for a good long while. Time to go home and make sure the Sackville-Bagginses hadn’t stolen the rug and silver from under her home-bound feet.

Oh, yes, the Men and the Elves and the Dwarves had been hospitable and welcoming. Everyone needed food, everyone needed shelter. She helped when she could, but her feet itched. The world had changed, and she could see the strange looks she got, wandering the mountain when she had been ejected from the healing wards to rest. She did not belong here, not yet.

She needed some time to think. And distance, blast it! This whole dratted fiasco of an ill-planned, badly executed…

(Bad choice of word, she was not going to think about his blood on the snow, not going to remember Fili screaming at them to run, not going to see in her mind’s eye his brother’s still body cradled by a red-headed elf woman. No. They had lived. They. Had. Lived.  All of them.)

 …this badly done journey to the far ends of Middle Earth with nothing but a hope and a prayer to the Valar that they would succeed with thirteen dwarrow and a single hobbit against a fire-breathing Dragon? Had left her undone. Turned her world upside down and inside out. She was a changed hobbit, yes. But she was still, first and foremost, a hobbit. She needed to think, get some distance.

But first, she did not think. She refused to think. If she stopped to think about strong hands, and warm lips, and welcoming arms, she’d never leave the mountain again. Her world was changed, she could feel it in the air that she swallowed as she waved goodbye to the Company, her company. What part of it could stand at the time. She had said most of her goodbyes at the gate, some in the healing rooms that Oin had at last cleared out for the worst of the wounded from the Battle.

(She’d heard Men and Elves calling it the Battle of Five Armies, calling it the greatest battle of the Age. She didn’t know what was so great about it. The stench of the funeral pyres was an ever present companion in her nightmares, flames licking at the corpses of Men, Elves, and Dwarves, arranged gently and devotedly, so unlike the heaps of mangled flesh that represented the foe – tall orcs and sallow goblins. The rush of battle, screaming, always the screaming haunted her still…)

She did not say farewell to Th- the King Under the Mountain. She had spoken to him once, after- after the Battle. Told him she forgave him, he was a little sick at the time, now please lie back down, you need to rest, to heal. She did not speak to him again. She spent many hours at his bedside, but stayed only long enough for Oin to declare him truly on the mend.

She thought she would have a hard time leaving without saying goodbye to ~~her King~~ The King. But seeing Dwalin’s desolate face at the gate when she left was dreadful.

“Lass…” His voice was wrecked, full of gravel and pain. But he did not reach for her, his hands curled into shaking fists at his sides.

“I have to leave.” She could feel her heart pounding, dull heavy pinching thuds.

“Please, please stay.” Hearing him beg nearly broke her resolve right then and there. But she was a Baggins, and a Took, and nothing if not stubborn.

“I can’t, Master Dwalin.” She saw him wince at the formality, at the walls she was putting up once more, and felt her eyes begin to burn. “Dwalin, no. I can’t… I can’t stay. There are things, things I need to take care of. Let me go.”

He looked away, off into the distance, letting his hands fall lax. “Stay safe, Burglar.”

She smiled weakly at him, and said in a trembling voice and her heart in her throat, “Tea is at four, the door is always open.”

Dwalin nodded, and they both could hear the snuffling of the others. One last round of hugs and she did begin to cry, but then Gandalf cleared his throat. She took one more glance back, as she rode away on her pony with Gandalf at her side. Dwalin was leaning heavily on Balin as the old councilor waved in farewell. She raised her hand in response and then turned away.

She needed to think.

The journey home was somewhat uneventful, compared to the adventure there. They were escorted through Mirkwood by the young prince of that land, Legolas. Bilbo vaguely remembered him. He’d been a ponce while her dwarrow were in his father’s dungeon. He’d also been much of the reason why her dwarrow had lived through the Battle.

He was inquisitive, reminded her of some of her more adventurous Took and Brandybuck cousins. Minus the actually having killed another living being thing. And the very obvious fact that he was a tall, willowy elven prince, probably older than the Shire itself.

Legolas bade them farewell at the Forest Gate, the western-most entrance of the Great East Road. “Do not forget, Elf Friend, you are always welcome in these lands.”

She nodded and smiled wanly. “Thank you, my lad. I shall return, someday.”

Legolas took that as his due, and rode away, heading north. Bilbo and Gandalf continued on, and spent a leisurely fortnight in the comfort of Beorn’s halls. Beorn was a fine host, and did not ask many impertinent questions. Even then, there were most certainly a few uncomfortable moments.

“What about your dwarves, Little Bunny?” He asked one evening, as the shadows grew long and the fire crackled in the open hearth in the center of Beorn’s great hall.

She swallowed hard. “What about them?”

The skin-changer gave her a long pointed look. “Why do you leave them while they still live?”

Shaking her head, Bilbo almost did not answer him for a moment. She spoke, haltingly and low. “Sometimes, we do and say things we regret. Often we do these things to someone we love. And they are also capable of doing those terrible, terrible things. And we forgive those things, because without forgiveness, how can we live? But forgetting those awful things… Takes time. I need time.”

Her words did not echo in the rafters of the hall, but the silence rang for a long while after. And Beorn did not ask again.

The fortnight was soon over and Gandalf and Bilbo were yet again saying goodbyes. Beorn hugged gently but firmly, expressing a wish that they might stay longer. But he understood. Bilbo wanted to be home. The Great East Road awaited. Up and over the Misty Mountains, their mounts trudged. The weather was cold but clear, much better than before. This time they went the route they had originally meant to take East. And at the far western end was her own Bag End, home.

As they rode, Bilbo found herself avoiding thinking over things, or at least trying to. Was Bag End still home? She still wanted to be there more than anything. It was the home her father had built for her mother. Her childhood idyll, the seat of Baggins lands. Her books, her armchair, her garden. And if her traitorous heart said anything to the contrary, well she was bloody well ignoring it. She was a Hobbit, and Hobbits belonged in the Shire.

But did she, really? Belong in the Shire, that is. Gandalf had been correct, she was not the same Hobbit who had left the Shire nearly a year before.

Her Took-blood had been loosed, and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to calm down. Not yet. But she needed some calm first anyway. Because her first adventure had been quite eventful…

Rivendell remained as beautiful as she remembered, and they spent another fortnight, resting after the struggle of crossing the Misty Mountains. Lord Elrond was every courtesy and kindness and saw to their needs. Bilbo helped where she could in the libraries, and listened to the singing and merriment in the famous Hall of Fire each night. She felt the longing for her dwarves, they would have had lovely songs to respond, and she truly began to think. She had avoided her thoughts for long enough. Time to remember the good along with the bad.

She’d had nightmares, certainly. One doesn’t partake in one of the largest battles of the Age without some damage, physical or otherwise. But the traveling had made them worse and better by turns. Soft dreams of sunny afternoons, or riding along a path with the Company, laughing at another of Bofur’s jokes. Deep, dark mazes of stone where she was being chased by a creature with lamp-like eyes. Th- (she had to say his name, say his name!) Thorin’s hands around her throat. Dwalin’s tears at the gate.

She had certainly found new facets to herself on this journey, while she ran and trudged from one side of Middle Earth to the other, with thirteen male dwarves who had no family connection or friendship with her from the start. The relationships took time, of course they did. Some came easier than others, but she had firmly implanted herself with them by the end. Only for the whole thing to fall down around her ears.

The trust had been too new, stumbled at a hurdle. But she would still fight for her dwarves, that was not in question. They would fight for her. The gold-sickness had been an unfortunate, difficult test of the relationships.

Thinking helped pass the time as they traveled through the wilderness, past Weathertop, and through to Bree. They sheltered for a night at the Prancing Pony, the rowdy common room dark and smoky, the beer weak but plentiful.

Gandalf left her at the borders of the Shire, and this here was another hard farewell. The wizard had been her stalwart companion for the last months. She would miss him dearly.

His blue eyes fixed her with a firm stare, and he said in his gruff manner, “You are not done adventuring, I think, Bilbo Baggins. Your adventure has changed you, and don’t think I didn’t notice. I’ll be stopping in from time to time.”

Bilbo smiled, tired but grateful, knowing she would miss the batty old man. “I’ll look forward to it. My door will always be open to you, Gandalf.”

“See to it that it is, Miss Baggins! Farewell!”

The less said of the state of Bag End when Bilbo returned in the middle of a blasted auction of her earthly possessions, the better.


End file.
